


Darkness

by angerwasallihad



Series: Learning to Love [4]
Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Episode s02e3 Under the Influence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angerwasallihad/pseuds/angerwasallihad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A somewhat angsty take on Sharon's thoughts during "Under the Influence" as well as her relationship with her own mother, and the influence that has had on her relationships, particularly with Rusty. Stand-alone, but part of the Learning to Love series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This started out as a cute fluffy take on the Mothership cuteness during “Under the Influence.” But it suddenly turned into this distinctly un-fluffy angsty monstrosity you have before you. I originally had this slated for Mother’s Day, but then I realized it was sort of dark and angsty for Mother’s Day. I would like to point a couple of things out: First, the flashback that takes up about the first half of the story takes place in about 1984. Though of course, you can apply it to any year thereabouts that your head canon so desires. This one is also pretty heavy on the Sharon and light on the Rusty as well as being excessively long. It totally got away from me. As usual, though, if you stick with it, there is some really adorable fluff. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Totally not mine. If it were mine I would be rich, vacationing on a tropical island somewhere with umbrellas in my drink. So obviously I’m not gleaning any profits from this. Wouldn’t that be great, though?

It was dark now. Most days she loved the dark. That endless possibility and mystery that so often scared children and even adults in the dark was often comforting for Sharon. For someone who kept everything so rigidly in control, it seemed odd. But the utter darkness of night provided an opportunity for her to release that control and just be. Without light, without purchase, there was no control. There was endless possibility, and with that possibility came a calm and understanding that she could let go. The dark was a comforting constant in her life, a life that had been turned upside down recently. The dark was a refuge, a pillar of stability even as the ground beneath her feet insisted on shifting precariously. 

But not tonight. 

Her hands scrabbled frantically at the wall, searching for the light switch. The dark was suffocating tonight, nearly swallowing her whole. It was so late; or was it early? She clearly wasn’t sleeping tonight. Her hand found the switch, and light flooded her bedroom. But it wasn’t enough. Sharon rushed around the apartment, turning on every light in her path. She finally stilled when there was no more light to be had. And yet, she still felt as if she were spinning wildly out of control. It was still so dark. 

She leaned against the wall next to the front door, hands splayed against the hard surface, head bowed. She took a deep steadying breath and turned so her back was against the barrier, slowly sliding to the floor. She so rarely just completely lost her footing like this. It was uncharacteristic. Granted, she hadn’t let on how shaky the ground had been lately in front of anyone. Sharon didn’t cry in front of people. But her cases didn’t used to affect her like this. She had always been so good at emotional distance back in FID. She was never uncaring; she had just been able to leave her work outside of her personal time. In fact, she had brought her work home with her, quite literally, after just two days on the job. But she never regretted relinquishing the control over her life that she had enjoyed without a teenager in the house. No, Rusty had been a gift. A moody, messy, unhelpful gift at times, yes; but complemented by his sweet and awkward gestures and the knowledge that he no longer needed to be saved from bad things. But the cases still got to her. Sometimes at night, the victims reached into her being with their deathly hands, poking and prodding her very soul. 

But that wasn’t really what was bothering her tonight. Yes, the case had been hard, compounded by her attempt to get Rusty to dig deeper with that essay. Trying not to push him too hard, lest he completely shut her out, but gently guiding him into an understanding that would not only get him a good grade, but also lead him into personal growth. Really, everything had gone the way she’d intended: she’d solved her case and Rusty really had gone above and beyond her expectations. Now, however, she had been left with discussions of motherhood swirling around in her head. 

Sharon looked out the window thoughtfully as the plane slowly descended. Fluffy white clouds giving way to the city sprawled out beneath her. Warm fingers slid down her arm and twisted with her own, squeezing reassuringly. She turned away from the window and looked at the man beside her. He smiled. “Almost there,” he whispered. She hummed in assent, smiling back. She contemplated their joined hands for a moment, his hand tan and almost comically large, nearly engulfing her small fair hand completely. His wedding band glinted in the sun shining through the window to their left. 

“How’s it look out there?” Jack asked as he leaned over her slightly to see out the window. 

Sharon pulled her eyes away from their clasped hands and looked back out the window. “Like home,” she murmured softly, watching as the city loomed closer and closer with their descent. “Chicago always looks like home.”  
***  
It was true, Sharon thought as they cautiously made their way out into the cold wintery Chicago afternoon and Jack hailed a cab. Winters in Chicago were brutal, but there was a scent in the air, an energy in the people, a familiar feeling. This was home. She sighed contentedly. Suddenly Jack’s voice cut through her reverie. “Sharon! What are you doing?! Come ON, we have to go!” He waved wildly at her through the snow, holding the door of the taxi open for her. Sharon quickly made her way over to the waiting taxi, sliding across to leave room for Jack beside her. Jack clambered in after her, closing the door quickly. Sharon leaned toward the plastic barrier separating them from the driver. “Lake Forest, please. 845 Morningside Drive.”   
***  
Sharon easily slid out of the taxi upon their arrival, waiting patiently as Jack paid the driver and gathered their things. It was good to be home, but she was suddenly nervous. She quickly looked down at her still flat stomach. No one could tell yet, she assured herself. She felt Jack’s hand on the small of her back. “Ready?” He breathed into her ear. 

“Absolutely.” She smiled up at him and took his hand as they walked up the drive. 

It never ceased to amaze Sharon how unchanged her parents’ house always seemed. She hadn’t lived under their roof in over seven years, but it still looked exactly the same. Two stories and sprawling, it might have been intimidating to anyone else. intricate stonework and a tall, gothic look made it seem like it came straight out of a fairy tale. It was big and imposing and clearly articulated that the Gleasons came from old money, lest anyone forget. Sharon was never under any illusions that this was the sort of home most people called home, and that this was hardly the image people conjured when she referenced where she grew up. But it was home, and she had been mostly happy here, whatever anxiety she was now feeling. 

They had reached the front door now, and Jack rang the doorbell. It was loud and clanging, and they could hear movement behind the door immediately. The door swung open to reveal a tall and distinguished-looking middle-aged man. Silver-haired and bearded, George Gleason had Sharon’s twinkling green eyes and a face that crinkled when he smiled. He wore a loud tie with Dr. Seuss characters on it, and a beige sport coat and slacks. “Sharon,” he said softly, smiling. “How lovely to see you.” He pulled her in for a quick embrace, then held out his hand to her husband. “Jack,” he said, nodding curtly. They shook quickly before stepping into the house. “Your mother is in the kitchen, Sharon. I hope your trip was pleasant.” He walked with them into the foyer, continuing back towards the staircase. “Jack, you can take the bags on upstairs. I trust you remember the way.” His voice was serious and left no room for negotiation as Jack hurried up the stairs with their bags; at the last moment he turned back to Sharon, amusement transforming his face. Sharon resisted the urge to smack him.

“Dad. You have got to stop with all that intimidation. He thinks you hate him!” She giggled a little in spite of herself. “Seriously. We’re married. We live together. The deed is done. More than once, actually.” She thought again of her deceptively flat stomach. “So you can stop that whole concerned father ‘if you touch her you will die’ routine. You know I hate that patriarchal attitude of yours almost as much as you hate my Bruce Springsteen enthusiasm.” 

Her father held his hands up in mock surrender. “What? I didn’t do anything!” He winked at Sharon’s skeptical expression. “Now go on and say hello to your mother. You haven’t been here in so long, and we’ve both missed you.” He shooed her off towards the kitchen. 

Still chuckling a little to herself, Sharon headed deeper into the house, into the kitchen. She pushed open the swinging door and inhaled deeply. Was that…? Yes, it was. Her mother was making apple pie, her favorite. “Mom?” She called as she came fully into the room now. “Are you in here?” She looked around the room quickly, but saw no one. 

Then a head suddenly popped up from behind the counter. “Sharon?” The head belonged to a petite woman who immediately came around the corner of the counter to greet her. Beautiful as her daughter, with the same wavy red hair, Elizabeth Gleason wore an apron over a simple blue cocktail dress that brought out her strikingly blue-green eyes. She smiled softly at her daughter. “Sharon. It’s really wonderful to have you here.” She looked past Sharon, obviously expecting to see someone else there. “Isn’t Jack here? I thought I heard a terrified son-in-law out in the foyer.” She winked at Sharon. 

Sharon smiled back. “Oh he’s here. Dad scared him off upstairs with our bags. I’m sure he’ll be down in a moment.” 

“Ah. I see. Well dinner is nearly ready. Could you go out to the dining room and make sure everything is settled?” Elizabeth turned back to the oven, presumably to check on her pie. 

“Of course, Mom.” Sharon peeked out into the dining room and saw that the table was only set for four. “Are we the only ones here, Mom? I thought Sara and Katherine and Daniel were coming too?”

Her mother looked up in surprise. “Oh, I thought they’d have told you. Sara and James aren’t coming for a few days. Apparently there was a lice outbreak at the elementary school, and your nieces and nephew are all quarantined for the next few days. Daniel was invited to Christmas with his new girlfriend’s family, and Katherine isn’t coming until the last minute, as usual. It’s still a few days until Christmas, you know. So for now I guess it is just the four of us.” She looked over at Sharon, concerned. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, Mom,” Sharon exclaimed. “It’ll be nice to have some time just the four of us.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Good. Now would you go find our better halves? It’s time to eat.” She pulled out the pie and set it on the counter to cool, picking up the ham right next to it that had been cooling while they talked. “I’ve got this, Sharon, go on and find those men. Make sure your father hasn’t killed Jack yet.” Sharon giggled headed out of the kitchen ahead of her mother. 

Ten minutes later, all four of them were seated in the dining room, enjoying a wonderful meal. Sharon decided the time had come. The longer they waited, the worse it would be for everyone. She looked over at Jack. He nodded encouragingly. She took a deep breath. “Well Mom, Dad, Jack and I have something we’d like to talk to you about.” 

Her parents looked at each other. Her father sighed. “Just one moment. I’ll go get my checkbook.” He made to get up. 

Sharon put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Oh no, Dad, it’s nothing like that.” She reached over with her other hand to take Jack’s under the table. “Jack and I are going to have a baby.” 

Jack squeezed her hand under the table and they both looked expectantly at her parents. George and Elizabeth smiled faintly. “That’s wonderful,” her mother said quietly. 

“Yes,” said her father without enthusiasm. “Absolutely lovely. Should I go get the pie, dear?” 

Sharon never knew how she managed to sit through the rest of that dinner. Her favorite apple pie turned to cardboard in her mouth as her parents attempted to make small talk, blatantly ignoring the bombshell Sharon had just dropped. Finally it seemed everyone was finished, and Sharon and Elizabeth began clearing the table. Sharon leaned down and whispered in Jack’s ear, “Go take a walk. Now.” 

Jack looked up at her, incredulous. “Now? It’s freezing! And dark. And there’s snow everywhere!” 

Sharon grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him back out into the foyer. She looked at him fiercely. “They won’t have this conversation if you are here. And we NEED to have this conversation. So you need to get out of here. I don’t care what you do. Go make a damn snowman. Act like that idiotic West Coast guy confronted with snow I know you’ve been suppressing all day. Go gawk at all the fancy houses around here. I don’t care. Just get out of here.” Jack looked for a moment like he was going to fight, but gave in when her fingernails began to dig into his arm. He turned away, grabbed his coat at the door, and headed into the night. 

As soon as the door shut behind him, Sharon stalked back into the dining room to find the table cleared and her parents sitting expectantly. Sharon sighed heavily and stood in the space between Jack and her own empty seats. She leaned forward, spreading her fingers across the wooden surface, facing her parents. 

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

She looked down at her hands and waited. She heard some whispering on the other side of the table, closely followed by the sound of a chair scraping back and someone rising to their feet. She glanced up through the hair that had fallen into her face just in time to see her father’s retreating back. 

“Honey, why don’t you sit down so we can talk?” Sharon’s mother’s voice was meant to be soothing, but it just made Sharon angry. 

“No,” she said quietly, head still bowed. “We’re going to talk like this. Right now.”

She felt, rather than heard, her mother shift uncomfortably across from her. “Well, honey, obviously we’re concerned.”

Sharon fumed silently for a moment before pushing herself back fully onto her feet and glaring across at her mother. “‘We’re concerned,’ Mother? Honestly?” Her voice was low, dangerous, and sarcastic. She pointed angrily in the direction of George’s retreat. “He isn’t in this conversation. He didn’t even have the guts to stay and have this out!” 

Her mother looked at Sharon directly and said cooly, “I don’t see your husband staying to ‘have this out’ as you put it.” 

At this, Sharon nearly roared with frustration, backing away from the table to make room for her anger. Her voice rose. “I practically had to push him out that door! Because I knew you wouldn’t have this conversation if he was here! Of course, Dad was only too happy to leave, you barely had to ask! He practically skipped out of here. Perfectly content to leave all the baby talk to the women.” She was pacing now and gesticulating wildly. 

Elizabeth sighed and smoothed her hair back from her face calmly. “Well of course he left, honey. It’s hardly appropriate to discuss your predicament in front of men. Obviously he’s a gentleman.” She carefully emphasized the last sentence, leaving Sharon in no doubt about the implication. 

“But that’s my point, Mom. It isn’t like that anymore. Men are in the delivery room. Women are the breadwinners. Women are out on the force now. We can be and do whatever we want! Don’t you want that for us?” Sharon shook her head. Somehow it always came back to this. The same fight, going on ten years now.

Elizabeth raised her voice now as well. “No, Sharon. I don’t. I don’t want people shooting at you, I don’t want you with a gun in your hand, and I sure as hell don’t want you supporting your husband! It’s not the way things are done. So no, I don’t want you to be whatever you want to be. I want you to be what you can be. And you can’t be a police officer. We’re not built for it, Sharon.” 

Sharon sighed and walked back over to the table, leaning over it as before. “Mom,” she began quietly, “Why are we still having this fight? There have been women on the police force since 1910. The first female officer served in L.A., Mom. This is not anything new. I want to help people, to save them from bad things. And I will not apologize to you for making the world better, or for helping my husband achieve his dreams, or for believing that I can do anything if I work for it.” Sharon finally looked up at her mother. “But that’s not what I want to talk about tonight.” She stood up and brushed her hair back from her face. She looked across at her mother intently. “Mom, I’m having a baby. And Jack and I are so happy. We are so excited, and we’ve started picking out names and looking at houses. We came here so happy to tell you—“ Sharon stopped and looked away for a moment, drawing in her lips the way she always did when she was holding in emotions. “At the very least, we thought you might be happy for us.” 

Her mother took a deep breath. “Like I said, Sharon. We’re concerned. Are you sure that you want this? It will change everything. You’ll lose everything you say you’ve worked so hard for.—“

“Wait,” Sharon interrupted. “What are you talking about?”

“Well of course Jack would have to give up on law school and you all would have to figure out another arrangement. And you wouldn’t get to, what was it, ‘be and do whatever you want.’ Children limit your options, honey. Are you sure you want to give up on all that and stay home for the next twenty years?” 

Sharon looked over at her mother, disbelieving. “There you go again, Mom. It’s not like that anymore. Yes, we’ve decided to put my own law school dreams on hold for the moment, but I’m not quitting. Women work and have children now. All the time. But let’s set that conversation aside for a moment. That’s not what’s bothering you. What is your real problem?” She looked intently across the table, curious now. 

Elizabeth clenched her hands on the table, seeming to steel herself. “Well Sharon, I’m just not sure that you should be a mother.”

Sharon reeled. Of all the things she had anticipated, it wasn’t that. “Mom, why on earth would you say that?” She asked quietly, fighting back tears and refusing to let anyone see how upset she was. 

“Well dear, you know your father and I are so proud of you. You’ve done so many wonderful things with your life, and you’re only twenty-six. A wonderful education, a stable living—whatever I may say about your professional choices, you have always been able to support yourself, which is more than your siblings can say—good relationships; you’ve done so well. But sometimes we worry that you’ve allowed your ambition and independence to rob you of emotional openness and intimacy. Sharon, we love you, but you’re distant; cold. And we just don’t think that that is the right environment for a child. Now of course, we would be happy to help you make arrangements to find this child a happy home. Sara and James have been thinking of having another child, and I know they’d be happy to give this little one a home. Or your father and I would be delighted to take on a grandchild as a permanent resident. We’re not as young as we once were, but I know we could handle it. We’d really love to keep your little one in the family. You just tell us what you decide.” Elizabeth stopped now, and made to stand up, as if the conversation were now over. 

Sharon was still standing on the other side of the table, staring in utter shock at her mother. They had never been close, it was true. Sharon had never been the sort of person who confided things in her mother. Elizabeth had always dictated rather than discussed, and never seemed to understand Sharon’s desire for independence. When Sharon had moved out West for college, it had gotten worse. The phone calls were short, visits few and far between, and soon they had been reduced to quick embraces and empty small talk. But never had Sharon imagined that they would find themselves here, with her mother assuming responsibility for her unborn child, assuring her that ‘the little one’ would find a more loving home than Sharon could give her. She had been disappointed, anxious, excited and irate tonight. But now she was heartbroken.

Sharon looked over at her mother, blinking back tears and attempting to hold herself together. She turned and walked away without a word, climbing the stairs to her childhood bedroom. She picked up the phone on the nightstand and made one quick call. She looked out the window and saw Jack shivering on the front steps. That poor West Coast man stuck outside in a Chicago winter. She’d have to make this up to him. She gathered their things together and stumbled back down the stairs. Her mother was still where Sharon had left her, standing unsurely in the dining room. Elizabeth came out when she heard Sharon descending the stairs, watching her silently. “Thank you for the dinner,” Sharon said quietly. “But Jack and I should go. Merry Christmas.” And before her mother could utter a word, Sharon swept out of the house and into the waiting cab, pulling the waiting and bewildered Jack in behind her.

Tears streamed silently down Sharon’s face in the now bright apartment. Things had never quite been the same after that night. It had taken nearly decade for her to shake that small voice in her head that reminded her how much better off her children would have been with one of her sisters or her parents. Every time her children suffered, when Ricky fell down the stairs into the basement and broke his arm while she was doing laundry, when Beth got an ear infection or even a minor cough, there was that voice, reminding her that if they’d had a better mother, it wouldn’t have happened. But those days were mostly behind her. It was terrible to say or even think out loud, but seeing those examples of terrible mothers like her suspect today or Rusty’s other mother reminded her just how wrong her mother had been that night. But her words still haunted Sharon. 

She was standing in the middle of the Murder Room with Lieutenants Flynn and Provenza. She could feel this case slipping away from her with every moment. They still had absolutely no idea what had even happened, let alone who their victim was, and Sharon’s frustration was mounting. 

“Hey.” She spun at the sound of Rusty’s voice. “Does anybody have a minute? I’m in the middle of a huge crisis.” 

Sharon’s heart stopped. “Does this crisis involve another threatening letter?” She asked seriously, careful to remain calm, despite the storm raging within. 

Rusty looked back at her with equal seriousness. “Uh… No,” He relented. “Look, we were ordered to write this practice essay for our college entrance application,” He started, and Sharon visibly relaxed. School crises she could handle. “And my English teacher completely tore mine apart.” Sharon tried not to laugh in relief at the absurdity of his ‘crisis’ and attempted to keep her expression neutral. 

“Rusty, that doesn’t exactly sound like a crisis to me.” 

Rusty began to sputter indignantly, and Buzz leaned over to Sharon, muttering, “You haven’t read the essay.”

Sharon sighed. “Oh no.” She already had her fair share of crises on her plate at the moment. Rusty could wait. Her possible victim who was still unidentified, could not. “I don’t really have time to look at it right now, I’m sorry Rusty.” She turned back to the Electronics Room to see what they might glean from their suspect. It soon became apparent, however, that Agent Morris was going to be difficult about this monitoring situation. Shut out of her own electronics room, with that TV writer observing her all day, Sharon was getting testy. No, more than that, she was impatient, frustrated and coming very close to being just plain pissed off. “Meanwhile, we could be saving someone’s life and we are standing here doing nothing,” she said quietly, not bothering to hide her displeasure. 

“So, as I was saying,” Rusty jumped back to his feet, taking advantage of Sharon’s suddenly free time. Sharon withheld another sigh of frustration and attempted to give him her attention. Whatever her current predicament, it really meant a lot to her that he was taking school seriously, and particularly lightened her spirits that he was working on a possible college essay. It was still a touchy subject with him. “I have to do this essay over again,” he continued, handing Sharon his essay. “Because in Sister Mary’s dumb opinion, my subject was inappropriate. She gave me the topic herself!” 

Sharon took the essay from Rusty. “Write about the person in your life who has influenced you the most,” she read aloud. She moved to open the essay, sensing there was more to this crisis than Rusty had suggested and she might as well start at the beginning. 

“I proofed it—just read the first line,” Buzz advised her. 

“Okay,” Sharon nodded. Hopefully this could be an easy fix. Though if it was a problem in the first line, that might be optimistic to the point of foolishness. “From the day I finally learned to tie my shoes, the person who has exercised the most influence in my life is me.” She stopped. “Unh,” She said in an obviously dissatisfied way.

“What?!” Rusty asked indignantly. “It’s true!”

“Don’t you think your Mom maybe had some influence too?” Sharon turned to look at Jason incredulously. Was the young man utterly incapable of minding his own business? And referring to Sharon as Rusty’s mother. This could spiral out of control very quickly. 

Thankfully, Rusty was getting better at handling that common misconception and didn’t fly off the handle this time. “She’s not my Mom,” he said slowly, looking from Sharon to Jason. “And who are you, anyway?” 

As Tao made the introductions, Sharon tried not to dwell on Rusty’s adamant declaration that Sharon wasn’t his mother. It was true, she wasn’t his mother. Elizabeth’s voice echoed in the back of her mind. “I’m just not sure you should be a mother.” Would Rusty think of her as his mother if she had been more of the mothering type? More like her sister Sara, with five kids and a backyard; cooking dinner every night and never having to leave her teenager at home to go off to a murder? Sharon shook her head. No. It had been decades since she had thought of her mother’s words so seriously. She wasn’t going to start up with this again. She hadn’t been the one to fail Rusty. She definitely wasn’t his mother. But Rusty was her child.

Rusty was speaking to her again. “Anyway, yes. My essay is a little edgy for nuns, but I was supposed to write about my life, and that is what I did.” 

Sharon sighed.There was an opportunity here for a deeper lesson, if only he could get there. But she knew he had to get there on his own. And the best way she could think of in her present stressed state was to push him in the right direction with a little brutal honesty and poking him where it hurts. “Rusty, this essay makes you sound arrogant and conceited.”

Rusty looked at her in disbelief. “Arrogant?”

“You are rewriting it,” Sharon said, pushing the essay back into his hands, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. 

“Sharon—“ Rusty started to protest.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, do you want to keep your laptop and your cellphone?” She cut across him curtly. 

“You can’t take my things away from me,” Rusty began again indignantly. 

“They are not your things, they are my things,” Sharon said evenly. “And you can only keep them while making mature decisions. Which in this case means following the instructions of your teacher.” Her tone left no room for discussion. Yes, she had moved on from just impatient and frustrated to plain pissed off. She turned away, making it clear the conversation was over, waving away Rusty’s moans about the fairness of life. She did feel a little bad for snapping at Rusty. He’d really caught her at the worst possible moment. Then, as Rusty’s indignation died down, she heard Jason mutter, “sure she’s not your Mom?” Surely there was a beanbag gun around here somewhere. 

This day would be the death of her.

She had snapped at Rusty that day, and felt appropriately terrible about it, but to be honest, she had rarely been that stressed out without an inciting Emma Rios incident. When things started to spiral out of control like that, Sharon snapped at people. It was definitely something she needed to work on. But she felt like she had made up for her snappishness the next day. Of course, she had gotten what she wanted in the end. However, her mothering woes were far from over.

Sharon sat at the breakfast table reading over Rusty’s new essay over a cup of tea. She suppressed a laugh with difficulty. Well, at least Rusty had kept Jason out of her hair for a few hours. That was something. And to be fair, this new essay was very sweet. ‘Her giving nature lends itself well to both her job and her parenting; she provides me with a wealth of inspiration to be better, live with integrity, and make a difference.’ Sharon tried not to snort at the last line. She still felt bad about snapping at him yesterday, so she went for a softer approach this time. “This new essay is very well done,” she said sweetly. “I can’t believe you wrote all those wonderful things about me.” She looked over at him and watched with interest as he attempted to arrange his face into an appropriate expression. He settled on a mildly proud smile, avoiding her eyes.

“Thanks. I just, you know, focussed on what’s important in my life.” 

Sharon’s suppressed giggles were threatening to escape. She went in for the kill. “No, I can’t believe you wrote all those things. This essay sounds nothing like you at all.” She kept her tone light and pleasant, hoping Rusty understood she was more amused than angry, but that being said, he still needed to do the essay properly. He was still missing what was right in front of him. 

“Yes it does, it’s me!” Rusty contradicted her. Sharon remained silent, speaking only with a skeptical look. Rusty squirmed under her gaze. “I mean, it’s mostly me. I had a little help from that Jason guy. But look, Sharon, it’s all about how important you are.” 

Sharon set down her tea and leaned forward. “I don’t want to be the subject of an essay someone else helped you write. It feels like cheating, and, I’m not the most important influence in your life.” She kept her tone soft and pleasant. Of course, there was a part of her that wanted him to write this essay about her. It was flattering, and somehow made whatever it was they had between them seem, well, real. But that wasn’t the point of parenting. Sharon’s job had always been to keep her children safe, and above all, to put them first. With Rusty’s unique predicament, this was all the more important. His need to understand this deeper lesson far outweighed any desire Sharon had to feel loved and appreciated by him. 

“Okay, first,” Rusty started with the hint of a rising argument in his voice, “I did not cheat.” Sharon just looked at him skeptically again. “It’s my story; Jason only helped me with the organization and the wording.”

“Well we’ll ask your teacher if that qualifies as your story, and I’ll go with her decision,” Sharon said agreeably, her voice rising slightly with the last few words, giving away the amusement she’d been harboring for several minutes now.

Rusty chose to ignore that comment. “And secondly, you have to be the biggest influence in my life, Sharon, because if I say I’m the biggest influence, then everyone tells me I’m a huge egomaniac. Which we know is not true. And I live with you, so you’re the influence.” 

Sharon thought for a moment, continuing her ongoing battle to suppress her unbridled amusement, while considering his situation seriously, because he was quite obviously distressed by the turn this assignment had taken. And he was getting so close to the answer. He just needed a little nudge in the right direction. “But why do you live with me, Rusty?” She asked seriously. “That’s the question you need to ask.” 

Rusty was quiet for a moment. “So what you’re saying is, I have to write this essay all over, again.” 

Sharon smiled again. That was Rusty, keeping his priorities straight. “You do. But think about this,” she said seriously. “Influences can be both bad and good at the same time.” 

Her own words haunted Sharon now as her mother’s once had. If her mother had never spoken those words, had never brought her character into question like that, would she have been the sort of mother she is now? By speaking those words and questioning her ability as a parent, had her mother unknowingly created the confluence of detached professionalism and open understanding that made her both a good police officer and a wonderful mother? 

Sharon often did go above and beyond when it came to advocating for her kids, particularly after she became a single mom. Sharon’s daughter Beth had once referred to Sharon as “The Warrior Mom; Xena with a badge and gun.” Her standoff with the Priest at St. Joseph’s on Rusty’s behalf was nothing compared to a stunt she’d pulled with Beth’s misogynistic English teacher or Ricky’s utterly incompetent chemistry teacher. There were no limits when it came to defending her children. 

Sharon’s mother was nowhere near as bad as her suspect had been, or as utterly spineless as Rusty’s was. In fact, she had mostly been good. But the idea that that one conversation more than twenty-five years earlier could have left such a mark on her life haunted her the rest of the day, as she thought both about her case and Rusty’s assignment. Rusty, at least, found his answer. 

Sharon sat in the condo again, thankful that this train wreck of a case was finally over. She was enjoying the silence and a cup of tea when Rusty cautiously ventured out into the living room, hovering in the hallway. Sharon sat up in her chair a little, looking over at him. “Do you need something, Rusty?” She motioned at him. “Come on over and sit down. Do you want some tea?” 

Rusty shook his head and proceeded into the living room, a few sheets of paper clutched in his hand. He sat down across from her. “I thought about what you said, and I think I figured it out. I rewrote the essay. Again.” He held out the paper to her. “I thought maybe you’d like to read it.” 

Sharon pushed it back towards him. “I’d rather hear you read it, if you don’t mind.” Rusty looked surprised, but complied. As he read, a broad smile spread across Sharon’s face. He had finally gotten there, with a well-written essay that truly spoke as the Rusty she’d grown to know and love over the past year. 

“As my mother drifted further and further away under the influence of crack and finally disappeared, in a curious contradiction of our circumstances, her affect on the choices I make has only increased. I sometimes wonder why she could not choose me over using drugs, but I will never wonder if I will do that to other people. And I won’t run away from my problems again, no matter how threatening they may seem. These are the lessons my mother taught me, even as she failed to learn them herself.” Rusty finished, looking up at her expectantly, a little nervously. 

Pride swelled up in Sharon’s whole being, like the tears she now realized sparkled in her eyes. Pride in Rusty and how far he’d come, the discoveries he’d made, and more than that, gratitude in his willingness to share all this with her. If ever she’d needed proof that she was a good parent, this was it. But strangely, despite her doubts throughout the case and the return of her mother’s words in her head, she didn’t need the validation. She already knew. “That was very good,” she said nodding quietly, not attempting to hide her tears from him this time. “Very you.”

“For better or for worse,” Rusty replied, his tone clearly conveying his uncertainty about his character. 

“Oh,” Sharon assured him. “For better. For very much better.” She smiled tearfully at him, and unmistakable glint of pride in her eyes.

Thinking about all of these things independently had calmed her. She no longer needed the light so desperately. She might even be able to get some sleep eventually. If she could stay focussed long enough to make it back to bed. Her back was getting sore now, leaning against the wall as she sat on the floor.

A creak of a door sounded behind her, followed by footsteps. She wiped her face quickly and attempted to adopt an expression of neutrality. “Sharon?” Rusty’s voice called to her down the hall. She could hear him padding quietly toward her. “Sharon? Are you awake?” He walked right past her in her position against the wall by the front door. 

“I’m here, Rusty.” He spun around with a start. 

“Why are all the lights on? It’s three in the morning! Are you okay? Why are you on the floor? Did something happen?” His voice hit a frantic pitch. 

She started to extend a hand to reassure him, then pulled back, thinking better of it. He’d had a rough day where mothers were concerned as well. Mothering him so overtly probably wasn’t what he needed now. Still, it would have been nice to touch him, to remind her of how wonderfully her mothering had worked out today. 

Rusty sat down next to her, and touched her shoulder. It was meant to be reassuring, but was mostly just awkward. They glanced at each other for a moment, and Sharon started to giggle. Rusty smiled weakly at first, then began to giggle too. Soon they were both laughing, Sharon’s arm around Rusty as he leaned into her shoulder. By the time the laughter subsided, there were tears running down both their faces. “Oh,” Sharon sighed. “I think we needed that.” She smiled and left her arm draped over his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Rusty nodded. “But seriously, what’s going on? Why are we on the floor?” His look of genuine concern sobered Sharon a bit. 

“Oh nothing, honey. I couldn’t sleep and needed a place to think that wasn’t so dark.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. 

“Ummm okay. And you thought the floor was the best way to achieve that? Cause you know there are like a gazillion chairs in this room, right?” Rusty seemed genuinely concerned. 

“Would it make you feel better if I sat somewhere that wasn’t the floor?” Rusty nodded and jumped up. “Okay then, let’s move this over to the couch then. Help me up.” She held out a hand to Rusty, and he pulled her up. They walked over to the couch and settled in. Rusty nestled in his usual spot on the end, while Sharon perched in the middle. 

“So what were you thinking about so hard?” Rusty asked cautiously. 

Sharon considered him for a moment, then decided on the whole truth. She had promised him full disclosure, after all. “I was thinking about something my mother said to me a very long time ago. Thinking about why it made me so angry, and why I still think about it all these years later.” 

Rusty looked at her a little apprehensively. “Can I ask what she said? I mean, it’s totally cool if you don’t want to tell me, but I did tell you a lot about my Mom tonight, so…” 

Sharon laughed. “Of course you can ask. And you’re right, I do owe you a story or two about me after everything I know about you. And it does apply to you in a way.” She sighed and looked straight at him, seriously. “A long time ago, when my husband and I were first married, my Mom told me that she didn’t think I’d be a good mother, and that I shouldn’t have kids.” 

She watched Rusty take it in. She nodded, mulling it over. Then he turned to her and said, “You know that’s utter bullshit, right, Sharon?” 

She smiled. “I do now.”

Rusty sat up. “Okay, are we finished with the mushy ‘our mothers both really screwed us up’ talk now? Cause I have an idea.”

Sharon looked at him mock-seriously. “This is an auspicious event. Do tell, what is your idea?” 

Rusty looked at her suspiciously, unsure if she was joking. “Ummm… Well I was thinking since neither of us are sleeping right now, we could play chess.” 

Sharon grinned. “A novel idea! I concur. On two conditions.” She held up two fingers. “One, that you don’t let me win. And two, that you at least give me a fighting chance. Say, eight moves minimum. Deal?”

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I’m still not so sure that Sharon should have told Rusty about her Mommy issues, but at the same time, I really like that she did… So eh. Thing #2: Don’t hate me for leaving Sharon and her mom like that. There is a multi-chapter in the works for which this will serve as sort of a prologue. So let me know if you’re interested in more young!Sharon. And last but not least, comments/thoughts make me super happy. So be fruitful.


End file.
